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I'm J L Wilson and I write romantic suspense, mystery, paranormals, time travels...sometimes all at once!

Here's my latest offering. SoD is about Margaret and Nathan, who end up in Possum Bottom, MN, during a brutal winter cold spell to settle Margaret's late uncle's estate. But instead they find a dead lawyer, a long-lost cousin, and one heck of a lot of romance.

Here's an excerpt. If you have questions, just check out my web site at jayellwilson.com. There's lots of info there.

Margaret looked around, counting ten white men either sitting or talking to each other. Two Indians, security guards from the casino, leaned against the wall on the far side of the room, watching but not participating in any discussion. Their eyes constantly moved, taking in everything. She’d often seen her father, a retired C.I.A. operative, do the same thing on those occasions when he was unsure of his surroundings. Old habits—and prejudices—died hard.

“Oh, it wasn’t exactly tension,” Grace said, leaning forward and clasping her hands between her knees. The action made her look like a small child, avoiding an adult’s scrutiny. “We were just treated like second-class citizens a lot of the time, especially because my Mom was white and Arlen was full-blood. Kerry was always angry about it. You have to remember, this was when the American Indian Movement was getting started in the late Sixties. It didn’t sit well with some of the people in town. And Kerry had some strong ideas about tribal rights and land use.”

“I remember,” Margaret said as disjointed fragments of memory came together in her mind. “There was some trouble with the authorities, wasn’t there? Uncle Arlen was in A.I.M. and he was put in jail or something?”

Grace nodded. “The charges were later dropped but…” She lowered her voice, leaning forward. Margaret automatically leaned forward, too, resting her left arm on Nathan’s leg to provide support. “There were charges of police brutality. Daddy Arlen was hurt when he was in custody. The family filed a lawsuit and it dragged through the courts for years.”

“…police business!” A woman’s voice, loud and strident, suddenly cut through the low buzz of conversation in the room. “You’re not allowed!”

The door leading to the outer reception area was jerked open and a man strode into the room. For one electric moment, everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at him.

The newcomer looked remarkably like Daniel Day Lewis in The Last of the Mohicans — tall, proud and confident as he exuded masculinity and power. He had the toned muscles of a runner or tri-athlete, and his thick black hair, laced with strands of gray, hung in a straight queue down his back. When he turned his gaze to her, Margaret felt pulled into his presence, as though his jet black eyes had traction beams that hypnotized her. His craggy face was a series of planes and angles, tanned from exposure with tiny lines around his eyes and mouth making him look distinguished and wise. His hooked, flat nose and dark coloring bespoke his Indian heritage, as did the cold, disdainful look he cast around the room.

As she watched, his attention shifted to Grace and his face transformed. The harsh, cruel lines of his mouth shifted and he was suddenly smiling, holding open his arms. He murmured something that sounded like ‘wa-bo-mimi,’ a term Margaret didn’t recognize but which Grace obviously did. She leapt out of her seat and flew across the room to him, and was quickly enfolded in a hug that lifted her off her feet.

Margaret glanced at the men in the police station who were watching the scene. Several of them were frowning at this display of affection and a couple of them looked downright pissed off. Was it the Indian-white girl connection? Or was the man so unwelcome there?

Her gaze shifted to the two Indians, leaning against the wall in a supposed casual pose. They, too, were watching the other men as though assessing a threat. One of them intersected her glance and Margaret smiled briefly. He nodded his head, acknowledging her assessment.

“Trust Kerry Songhorse to know the beautiful women,” someone behind her muttered. Margaret was pretty sure it didn’t come from the two Indian men.

Nathan’s hand tightened on Margaret’s shoulder. “Did he say Kerry Songhorse? Is that the name?”

“Kerry is Uncle Arlen’s son.” Margaret angled her head closer to Nathan’s ear to speak in a low voice. “I believe he’s on the Tribal Council.”

“He’s also on the FBI’s Watch List for terrorist activities. This is turning into an interesting vacation,” Nathan murmured. “I swear, Margaret, your family gets me into all kinds of trouble.”

Audrey and Lawrence are so excited to see all their adventures in a single collection, they've created a whole website for it! Okay, so they had a little help from an author friend, but I'm trying to stay humble about my contribution to their great endeavour...LOL

For those who haven't met Lawrence the Librarian and his young mistress Audrey, they've been up to no good for years, spreading their stories all over erotic fiction websites like Oysters and Chocolate.com and The Erotic Woman.com, and even appearing in anthologies like Tasting Her (Cleis Press, ed. Rachel Kramer Bussel) and Coming Together: With Pride (Phaze Books, ed. Alessia Brio).

But here I am yapping away when I'm supposed to be sharing a blurb and an except. So, without further ado...

Audrey & Lawrence : The BlurbAn affair is always easy in the beginning. There's plenty of steamy sex and getting-to-know-you. Everything is for now. Immediate gratification. No thought of the future.

That's how it starts for Audrey and Lawrence. Audrey's only concern is helping an unhappy man trapped in a sexless marriage revive the virility of his youth. That approach doesn't last long. As her affection builds, she wants more than she can have, and more than Lawrence is willing to give.

Over the course of twelve breathless stories, Giselle Renarde's famous femme fatale tips from the lofty realm of youthful adoration into the dark pit of jealous love. Will her behaviour get out of hand when the affair grows beyond her heart's control?

This complete collection includes all twelve Audrey & Lawrence stories, many of which make their premiere appearances in this special compilation.

In that moment, looking into those tear-filled eyes, I knew I wanted to marry Lawrence Galloway. The thought had crept up on me before, but I’d always managed to force it out of my mind. After all, I was a career-mistress, or at least it would have been a career if I took any money for my tenderness.

Audrey the mistress: not just what I was, but who. My whole identity was wrapped up in that one dominating aspect of my personality. I was a woman who consorted exclusively with older men, married men. Those sad sorts raised in a bygone era, trapped in loveless, sexless relationships. My body, my admiration, helped them, made them feel good again, feel attractive and virile. What I gave them was a therapy, a rejuvenation. Of course, when Lawrence came along, I was smitten. There’d been no one else since.

But ringing in my ears were the words, “I’ll never ask you for anything.” In the beginning, I’d assured him, “as long as you keep no other mistresses, I’ll do anything you want. I’ll do more for you than you’ve ever dreamed, but I want to be the only other woman in your life.”

As I gazed into Lawrence’s sad eyes that April morning, I knew I was about to go back on my word. “Be my husband,” I said. My tone was utterly flat. It wasn’t a question, wasn’t a plea, it was a plan. “Leave Ruth and marry me. Be my husband.”

The words I’d promised never to utter all those years ago had now been spoken. Lawrence stared at me, seemingly awestruck. Maybe he would marry me. Maybe he loved me enough now.

Reaching out, Lawrence held my cheek, and his touch was the touch of God. It rang through my body like cathedral bells, alerting my cunt it was time for worship. He squinted and the teardrops fell like lava against my chest as he leaned his head toward mine.

Without a word, Lawrence laid a passionate kiss on my mouth. My eager tongue groped for his. It was hot, wet, forceful but yielding. With both hands on his head, I dragged his energy down through every centre along his spine. I dragged it to the very base of his being and squeezed his tight ass when I got there. Mirroring my pose, he scooped my cheeks into his hands, digging firm fingers into complicit flesh. We kissed and we kissed and we kissed. Hot, wet, yielding. That’s when his hard cock found me like a lonely traveller taking refuge from the storm.

Slade Bower and Mustang Jackson are living the high life on the professional bull-riding circuit. The prize money is big, the bulls are rank and the women are willing. But something is missing. For Slade, waking up in a different city with a different woman each morning is holding less and less appeal. Even Mustang’s creative attempts to shake things up don’t help. Then along comes a big-city author who’s like nothing they’ve ever encountered. Something about her makes Slade sit up and take notice—and Mustang is always up for anything.

Romance writer Jenna Block has a problem—her agent thinks a cowboy book will jump-start her career. A born New Yorker, Jenna doesn’t do cowboys, not on paper, and definitely not in real life. Luckily for her there are two cowboys ready, willing and able to take her out of her comfort zone in every way that counts…and some ways she hadn’t counted on.

Warning: This story contains two hot cowboys, one very lucky woman, hot ménage sex and lots of bull.

Enjoy the following PG 13 excerpt for Unridden:

“Wow. This is nice.” Jenna had trouble diverting her eyes away from the large bed.

Her pulse raced. She was nervous, very nervous, and making conversation seemed the best way to postpone the inevitable—that being her and two cowboys she barely knew together in that big bed. But the moment she’d suggested they come back to the trailer, her decision had been made. After seeing the looks on both of their faces, she was pretty sure they knew it too.

There was no turning back now. Not that she wanted to. The internal do-I-or-don’t-I debate was done—she only hoped her bravado lasted long enough for her to actually go through with it without passing out from nerves.

“I like to try to stay at hotels during the competitions, but they were all booked,” Mustang explained apologetically. “On top of the bull-riding finals there’s some huge romance convention in town, or so I was told.”

As Mustang grinned pointedly at her, Jenna bit her lip and cringed. “Yeah, that would be the one I’m at. Sorry about that.”

Jenna glanced at Slade, who was watching her and Mustang closely while not saying much. Actually, he wasn’t saying anything, as usual. “I don’t blame him for liking it. It’s a nice trailer.”

“Exactly how many trailers have you been in, darlin’?” Mustang raised a brow in challenge.

“Counting this one? Um, one.” Jenna felt her cheeks heat.

Mustang grinned. “That’s what I thought. Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna hit the head, then get us those drinks.”

After Mustang closed himself into the tiny toilet room, Slade finally spoke. “What’s all this about,

Jenna? Guzzling your drink at the bar. Asking to come back here to the trailer when last night you wanted nothing to do with it. You’ve done a total one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turnaround since yesterday. What’s up?”

She considered his question and her answer very carefully. “Today’s my birthday, Slade.”

His head dipped once in a nod. “Happy birthday.”

“It’s my thirty-fifth.” She tried not to wince.

Slade shrugged. “So what?”

“So what?” Jenna laughed. “Easy for you to say. What are you? Like twenty-five?”

She rolled her eyes. “Great, that’s just great. Well, at least I’m not old enough to have birthed you both.”

Slade shook his head. “What does it matter? You’re only as old as you feel.”

“Maybe that’s my problem, Slade. I feel old. I’m thirty-five, have no boyfriend, and I’m starting to seriously doubt my career choice. I’m not where I thought I’d be at this point in my life.”

“First of all, you don’t look thirty-five.”

Jenna snorted. “Thanks.”

“As for the rest, I don’t know shit about writing or books or what plans you had for your life, but as far as the no boyfriend part… I can’t say I’m unhappy about that.”

She raised her gaze to meet his. “Really?”

That had been quite a revelation from the man of few words. For the first time since meeting him, Jenna really looked at Slade, without looking away this time. She stared deep into his dark eyes and saw the man beneath the stone-hard exterior.

He nodded. “Yeah. Really.”

Maybe it had been the vodka and her deepening gloom over her crappy cowboy book on top of being yet another year older that had prompted Jenna to suggest going back to the trailer in the first place. But right now, it was Slade and his sincerity that made Jenna not doubt her decision one bit. She wanted this.

Hell, she was pretty sure she needed this.

Jenna stepped forward and leaned toward him. There wasn’t much distance between them to begin with given the size of the trailer, and now Slade was right in front of her, their bodies almost touching.

Slade was still too tall for her to reach what she wanted, until, eyes never leaving hers, he lowered his head a few inches, meeting her halfway. Tipping her head up to close that last temptingly tiny space, she touched her lips to his. She heard the sharp breath he dragged in through his nose at the contact.

As Slade’s rough palms came up and cradled her face, his mouth pressed harder against hers…and then the latch on the trailer bathroom jiggled.

In the blink of an eye, Slade raised his head and took one giant step back, leaving Jenna alone with her raging hormones.

She and Slade maintained eye contact for what seemed like forever before Mustang came to stand next to them again. Jenna turned in time to see the interested look Mustang gave them both.

“Hi.” Jenna smiled at him.

Mustang raised a brow and drawled out a slow, low, “Hey, darlin’.” The sound sent a quiver straight through her.

It can't be her project of researching Internet dating sites! Those losers wouldn't be able to turn on a woman even if she came complete with an ON switch.

It can't be the delicious island cocktails of tropical fruit, cream and vodka... even if their names make you blush when you order them.

Could it be the tight black jeans on the tight black backside of Randy Andy, the alleged con artist?

EXCERPT R13:

The moment Tanya Redford spotted the caramel-skinned hunk in the hotel foyer she knew two things: that the guy was a con artist and that she was in trouble–big time.

The con was in the sincere angle of his shoulders and in the forthright gaze. The con was in his smile, vulnerable with honesty. The con was in his bad boy charm.

The mixture meant trouble of mega proportions.

Tanya didn’t mean to listen in on the conversation...All right, she did. The hunk’s voice was like Kahlua and it slid delectably over her, caressing her skin and tingling her spine.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a poker player, Mr. Lockhorne,” he leaned his body in toward an elderly couple and spread out his arms. “You’d hate me for spoiling your evening.”

While Tanya did not believe the “not much of a poker player” part, she agreed with the rest of the statement. It would be easy to hate this guy once he’d cheated you at the poker table. She already hated him for the way her nipples tensed up at the sight of his predator-like mouth and for the way her hands ached to stroke his tight jeans.

“Nonsense,” the elderly gentleman’s voice boomed across the hall. “We don’t take the game seriously. But evenings are so boring in this place– there is only so much Fijian dancing an old grump like me can watch in a week.”

“Surely, with a delightful wife like yours–” The conman’s eyes blazed brazen as he lifted Mrs. Lockhorne’s wrinkled hand to his mouth.

He held it there for about one hundred years, while Tanya looked on, transfixed. The air around her thickened, she gulped its heat in short shallow breaths. She would give all her days in this five-star beach resort in exchange for one night with that mouth.

“Oh, go on, Andy,” the other woman laughed and tilted her head, her hand still captive on his lips. “Coming from anybody else, that comment would have sounded sleazy.”

“Ma’am, I can assure you…” His cheeky grin belied the words.

Andy. The owner of the best jean-clad arse she has seen in years– make that “ever”–was called Andy. His name sent a prickling awareness up and down her spine.

Randy Andy. Andy-Candy. Neat.

Review: (Dakota from Dark Divas)!

...This is a rather bold concept. I’ve been reading erotica and romance for darn near twenty years, and I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a plot like this one...

and especially:

...You have another winner with this book. I also thought the idea of adding recipes for different adult beverages in theme with the chapters was quite a novel idea. I giveFiji On Fire, Fiji On Ice Fourand half Delightful Divas...

Lucien and Ranulf have lived centuries, waiting for the time they'll be reunited with the woman they love. She changed their lives and made them want better. There's only one catch, Eris has never met them before.

Hey there: J L Wilson here with another light mystery about Bea Emerson, who goes to a writing conference and finds a dead body... and a lover. Check it out in download or in print.

Setup: Bea Emerson (pen name B.R. Emerson) was present when a famous author died, autographing a book for Bea at a writer's conference. The next evening Bea and her friends attend a cowboy roundup, but she's separated from her friends, passes out, and finds herself in the middle of nowhere with Jim Quinn, another author at the conference.

I heard a muted chiming noise. I flung out my hand, touching dry dirt. It didn’t have sand texture but it wasn’t loam. It was … dirt. I struggled to sit up. I was sitting on something hard, covered in dirt. I was sitting on …

A road?

Panic seized me. I staggered to my feet, hands scraping through gravel until I finally managed to lurch upright. I immediately wished I hadn’t. Waves of nausea washed through me. I couldn’t stop it. Like a heaving tide, I put my hands on my knees, leaned over, and barfed.

I heard the noise again. My stomach hurt so bad I knew I’d be sick again. I just prayed I wouldn’t have the runs, too. The two so often went hand in hand. Now I could see a faint ribbon of light in front of me. I knew that had to be the gravel road I was on. The sound was ahead of me, on the right and down somewhere. I followed it, finally seeing a blinking light.

I paused to barf again, doubling over with the effort. I wiped my mouth with shaking hands then followed the noise again.

It was a cell phone, on the ground. I dropped to my knees and opened it. “Who’s there?” I croaked, my hands shaking so bad I was afraid I’d press the wrong button.

“Miss Emerson? Bea?”

Nausea was lurching through me again. “Who’s this?” I sagged down on the ground to put my head on my knees.

“It’s Detective Remarchik. Where are you? Are you okay?”

I turned aside and barfed again, ending up on my side, face pressed against the gravel. “I’m sick,” I managed to say.

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know. I’m here, wherever this cell phone is.” The world was spinning around me. The cell phone pressed to my ear was the only solid thing around. I squinted at a dark shape just a couple of feet away. “I think I see somebody.”

“Don’t hang up the phone, Bea.”

I heard him shouting to somebody, saying something like trace it. “There’s somebody here, I think.” I struggled to inch forward through the gravel.

“Stay there. Don’t move.”

I tried to laugh but nothing came out. “I can’t move.” I pushed myself upright to peer ahead of me.

A dark shape was visible against the ghostly white of the gravel. I tipped my head upward. The moon had finally risen, giving me enough light to see Jim Quinn on the gravel a few feet away. He was twisted in a funny way, his shoulders pressed to the ground while his legs were sprawled at an odd angle. His face looked covered by something black. I inched closer.

“Jim?”

He didn’t move. I could feel another barf coming so I flopped back down on the gravel, praying it would pass me by. This time just a gush of bile came out, but it hurt like crazy. I curled up into a ball, setting the cell phone carefully away from me. I could hear someone talking but it didn’t make sense. The only thing that mattered was the pain in my gut.

****

“It’s okay.”

I opened my eyes. L.J. Remarchik was looking down at me, his hand on my face.

“How did you get here?” My throat hurt so the words came out like a croak.

“I followed the cell phone.” His eyes looked very concerned.

“Am I going to die?” My stomach felt like it had ruptured. I’d never felt such burning pain in my life.

“No.”

I looked for a lie in his eyes but he met my gaze. I closed my eyes. “I think Jim Quinn was sick, too.” When I could manage it, I opened my eyes then tried to sit up. That’s when I realized I was on an ambulance gurney. Lights were flashing and people were all around, talking. “What happened?”

He put his hands on my shoulders to push me back down. “You’re going to the hospital. They need to check you over.”

“What—” Someone moved. I caught sight of Jim Quinn, still lying on the ground. This time there was enough light so I could see it wasn’t a black cloth on his face. It was blood on what was left of his face. The right cheek and eye were smashed flat, giving him a lopsided, melted appearance. Near him was a broken flashlight, like the one we’d used to find the latrine.

I looked up at Remarchik just as another wave of pain washed through me. I couldn’t help myself. I leaned over and barfed all over his boots. I heard him say, “I want a tox report on that.”

I have a new book out I'd love to tell you about! It's a contemporary romance called Erotic Exposure and from Ellora's Cave! In the story, the heroine agrees to pose for a provocative calendar to help raise money for the local animal shelter where she volunteers and finds out that being half naked in front of a hot photographer and his camera is one hell of a turn-on!

I hope you enjoy the blurb and excerpt of Erotic Exposure and if you decide to pick up a copy, let me know how you like it!

Blurb:

Liz Bellamy agrees to pose for a provocative calendar to help raise money for the animal shelter where she volunteers. Although it's for a good cause, she's a little shy about posing half naked.

When she arrives at the photography studio and finds hot photographer Kent Draper waiting for her, she almost chickens out, but decides to go through with it anyway. Not only does she end up having one heck of a sexy photo shoot, but discovers being half naked in front of a hunky photographer and his camera is one hell of a turn-on. And when a girl gets that aroused, a little shyness isn't going to keep her from getting what she wants.

Excerpt:

Kent dropped to one knee in front of her, camera at the ready. "Okay, now that Godiva’s out of the room, show me your best sultry look."

Liz wasn’t exactly sure she knew how to do sultry, but she decided to give it her best shot. Putting her hands on the floor in front of her, she leaned forward to flash him a little more cleavage and gazed at him from beneath lowered lashes.

He came out from behind the camera to give her a curious look. "Why’d you stop? That was perfect."

"I’m not so sure sultry is a good look for me," she told him.

"I beg to differ. And so does the camera. But if you don’t believe me, do the same thing and this time check yourself out on the monitor."

Hoping she didn’t look as silly as she felt, Liz struck the same pose, then glanced at the monitor after he’d snapped the picture. What she saw made her do a double take. With her full lips parted, her blue eyes half hidden underneath a thick fringe of dark lashes, and the tops of her lace-covered breasts peeking out enticingly from her silk robe, not only didn’t she look silly, she looked like the very definition of sultry. That thought sent another current of excitement shooting through her pussy.

Liz did as he asked, waited for him to take a picture, then impulsively lifted her hair up with her free hand and blew him an air kiss over her bare shoulder.

He chuckled. "That’s it. Show me some more. Have fun with it."

She dropped her hand, letting her hair fall down her back as she shifted positions. Lying over on her hip, she leaned forward to give him a sexy come-hither look. As she did, the robe slid down to her elbows, completely exposing her lace-trimmed bra to the camera and the man behind it. Kent’s low groan of approval was all the encouragement she needed to keep going.

And for excerpts from Just Right; Good Cop, Bad Girl; and Mr. Right-Now, my other releases with Ellora's Cave, as well as a sneak peek at Dead Sexy and Unmasked, my upcoming releases from Ellora's Cave, visit my website at http://www.paigetylertheauthor.com/

This is my first visit to the blog and I thought I'd share an excerpt from my latest medieval historical romance, 'A Knight's Enchantment,' published by Kensington in June. The hero Hugh, a landless knight making his own way in the world, has seized the heroine Joanna. He is convinced that she is mistress to his enemy, the corrupt Bishop Thomas, who holds Hugh's brother in prison. Joanna, an alchemist for the bishop, is less than pleased to be taken, particularly as she has her own reasons for fearing the bishop. Here, Hugh and Joanna are about to spend the night together, in a small cave.

Excerpt:

Hugh tethered and tended Lucifer, roughed a little with Beowulf, cut reeds for bedding, collected firewood and kept a sharp eye on Joanna. She made no move to flee from the cave, which surprised him, and met him at the cave mouth with his armload of reeds, which astonished him.

"What is it?" he asked. Her eyes were wide and her color high, lighting up her tanned face, making her very pretty. This would be how she would look in love-making, he realized, and felt a mingled twist of desire and jealousy. "Well?" he demanded, now using a hated phrase of his father's, "Must I wait for doomsday before you speak?"

"I know what the runes say, and we must dig." She was clearly too excited to notice his rudeness. "There is treasure here! Viking gold! Look -"

She caught his hand in hers and fairly dragged him back with her, careless of whether he smacked his head on the low cave roof. Crook-backed, he let her guide him, enjoying the feel of her small fingers round his palm.

"Look!" She dropped to her knees beside the maze of marks he had found at the back of the cave years earlier. The setting sun blazed into the small dry space - had it always been this small? - turning rock and stone golden. The runes on one darker-hued stone close to the cave floor seemed faded to Hugh's eyes, but his eager companion read them easily.

"Orri's horde is here. A mighty gift." She pointed to an X shaped rune. "This rune, Gebo, means gift." She touched three straight lines with her foot. "Three, then dig, it goes on."

She stepped three paces from the cave wall and began to hack at the earth floor with her knife.

"Wait!" She was wilder than he was, in a fight, Hugh thought, astonished by this whirl of activity. "You will blunt your blade. I have something better."

He looked amongst his things and found the small hammer he used to drive in tent and baggage pegs and the metal file he used to sharpen his sword. He set to work, driving the file into the hard-packed soil where Joanna was laboring, and in a few moments struck something that rang out like a broken bell.

"Let me -" Joanna had her fingers probing and tearing at the loosened earth and now she sat back on her heels, a great smile of pleasure breaking on her face. "We have it!"

Down by her knees was a torn bag, gray-black and half-rotten, no more than wisps of cloth. But through the tangle of fraying threads he saw the unmistakable gleam of gold.

"Orri's hoard," Joanna said softly. "He must have left it here for safety and never come back."

She moved but Hugh was swifter, scooping the coins and rings out of the dirt and onto his cloak.

"Hey!"

Fairness made him look at her and offer her a ring: a pretty one, he thought. "Thank you," he said. "That will be most useful."

Joanna stared at the ring without taking it. "You do not think we should share?"

He smiled at the question. "What use would you have for old coins? Your lord gives you all you need, but I must make my own way."

Her eyes narrowed. "You do not think I have expenses? Debts?"

"Take the ring, and this golden chain," he urged, shrugging off her questions, dismissing them as girlish folly. "Both would look well on you, I think. Were I your bishop, it would give me pleasure to see you wearing them."

'Thank you, my lord." She took them, almost a snatch, and retreated to the very back of the cave, leaving him to make up their rough reed mattresses, and a fire.

"Will you leave scrabbling for more messages and condescend to help me a little?" he demanded, some time later, as the fire began to smoke. "Feed this while I find food to feed us."

"I thought you preferred to do all things yourself," she retorted. "Besides, you do not have enough kindling."

"If you can do better, do so." Hugh left her sulking over the crackling flames and stamped off outside again. When he returned, Joanna was nowhere to be seen and the fire was a glowing, growing mass of orange. Even as he stared in amazement, the whole mass exploded into more flames and gushed a fog-bank of purple smoke.

You an read more about my other novels and see blurbs, reviews, covers and excerpts at my website:

Professor Selyf is a fay magical, a solitary academic who lives near the mythical village of Gwyllion on a Welsh hillside. When a knock at the door interrupts him from his manuscript, he curses the intruders—until he gets a look at them! The ginger boy, Bedwyn, he doesn't much care for, but Trysta, his beautiful cara, awakens Selyf's heart and the sleeping serpent within.

Trysta has a "female problem," as Bedwyn puts it, and needs the professor's audience. She and Bedwyn are mixed-bloods--half human, half fay. When Trysta's mother conceived her, she wished for a little girl. The fae have a unique ability to select their children's genders with simple wishes, but since Trysta's system contained "stagnant" human blood, the wish only half succeeded. Trysta was born a girl with one particular boy part.

Bedwyn doesn't know the true nature of Trysta's "female problem," and she asks Selyf to help her resolve it so she can finally share her body with her caru. As a guest in Selyf's home, Trysta grows as attracted to the professor's magical intellect as he is to her beauty. The desire to give in to temptation mounts, particularly when Selyf realizes the only way to resolve Trysta's problem involves a sexual sacrifice on the solstice.

Excerpt:

He knew she’d return. He sensed it in her look of longing as she leftfor dinner with that stupid sod of a caru. “You’re here for my bed, Ipresume?” Selyf said as she slipped in the door. Her eyes revealedeverything she longed to say, but he understood her restriction. “Willyou sit with me?” he asked, beckoning her into the chair by his desk.

Gazing into the empty seat, she shook her head. “I should not havecome,” she said with a look of apprehension in her conflicted eyes.Slipping her bag from her shoulder, she sat in the chair. “You shouldknow you represent a distinct temptation for me.”

Selyf was not easily scandalized, but her bold admission took his breathaway. “As do you, for me,” he admitted. “But you needn’t fear me, FayTrysta. I have spent all my adult life as a solitary magical. I knowdenial and self-sacrifice only too well. You are safe here in my home.”

With tears in her eyes, she nodded. For a moment, she looked as thoughshe might speak, but then said nothing. As she rose from her chair, shefinally blurted, “What if I don’t want to be safe anymore?”

He only stammered, with no response at hand.

“You speak of denial?” she went on. “What do you think my life hasconsisted of up until now? At my age, I have yet to experience thepleasures of the flesh. In the village, I must pretend to be exactlywhat I seem, and why? Because only my mother, her mid-wife, and I canknow the truth. You have no idea the trust I’ve put in you, ProfessorSelyf. You hold my very life in your hands.”

“I hold your life,” he repeated, rushing around his desk to meet her.“Why may I not hold your body as well?”

Slipping past him, she hurried to the window, mumbling, “Bedwyn.” Justas Selyf’s heart began to plummet, she continued, “He mustn’t see.”Ensuring the curtains were fully closed, she walked to him like a vixenon the hunt. Her eyes burned like roaring embers as they explored thelengths of his body. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she ensnared himin a kiss the likes of which he’d never imagined. He felt her veiledpassion course through his veins as his mouth melded with hers. Theirtongues fluttered and surged one against the other. His whole body wasso rapt with hers he could hardly breathe. As they kissed, he ranintrepid fingers through her silken hair and down her back. In turn, sheheld his cheeks and his neck, his back and his sides. When he graspedthe firm flesh of her buttocks, Trysta wheezed and broke free.

The look in her eyes was indiscernible but for the temptation theyaroused. He almost apologized for being so dreadfully forward beforerealizing it was she who’d kissed him. Grabbing her wrists, he pulledher into his arms and carried forth the sweet embrace she’d abandoned.After a moment of brave indecision, she gave in to the kiss and meltedin Selyf’s arms. His tongue wrangled hers until she broke away oncemore. Pressing her soft lips to his ear, she whispered, “I’ve never feltlike this before.”

“Neither have I,” he admitted. “You’ve aroused in me the sleepingserpent.”

At that turn of phrase, her body grew limp in his arms. “Yes,” she said.“I know only too well what you mean.”